


a song for someone

by flailingthroughsanity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, This was supposed to be short but it got out of hand, Touchy-Feely, canon compliant if you squint, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 02:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingthroughsanity/pseuds/flailingthroughsanity
Summary: Noctis just wants to be doted on.





	a song for someone

**Author's Note:**

> There's a plot if you squint. basically a feel-good fic that I sort of wanted to write probably because I'm about to go dark on another fic for ffxv haha

His father tells him the news through a phone call.

In a sense, Noctis feels like he should have expected it – he and his father never did have what you’d call a ‘normal’ relationship. Theirs was too guarded, too proud and too reticent – maybe it was a mirror for how Noctis was just like his father, someone would say (usually Clarus) but he can’t imagine his father being anything other than the imperious King of Lucis. He wasn’t like that: he didn’t have his father’s force of will, or his fortitude both mental and physical to keep the Wall standing for years.

Noctis sometimes stares at the ring resting on his father’s middle finger – right hand, the hand that brands the sword – and he can’t imagine wearing it on his own hand, a badge of responsibility that he honestly didn’t want – that he could never escape from.

Maybe it’s because they were royalty and not just because they were too similar, no matter how much Noctis can’t see  _ that _ happening. Duty and sacrifice and all that bullshit.

He sighs, and the way his father pauses on the other end has Noctis frowning.

“Are you alright, Noctis?” The tone is concerned, somewhat personal even and Noctis knows he’s being a bit unfair when it comes to his father.

_ It’s not about us, not anymore. It’s about everyone else now. _

“Yeah, Dad. Just…look, I get it. Don’t worry, alright?” Noctis lies, through gritted teeth.

“My son, I know that—“ And there it is, that trace of guilt, of regret, and Noctis…doesn’t really want to deal with that, not now, not in this call.

“Dad, dad, listen to me,” His father is cut short, quiet, and Noctis continues, tries to put up a front, to sound confident enough at least. “Look, it’s just a lot to take in, okay? We’ll talk about this, but not now. Not yet, okay?”

He wanted to say more – his words were not the amazing definition of confidence – but Noctis can’t find the right words, and even if he had the right ones, he’d just sound trite and unsure and unlike him and,  _ then,  _ his father would worry.

_ Trust me, dad.  _

He doesn’t know why he’s holding his breath, or he’s gripping his phone tightly, or that he’s trembling slightly, but when Regis answers with a quiet ‘alright’, Noctis feels somewhat heady, enough for him to lean against the door of his bedroom.

“Take care, my son.” His father says, and he sounds both regal and warm – things Noctis couldn’t be, but it’s enough to give him a sliver of calm.

“Back at ya, Dad.”

The phone call ends, and the hand holding his phone drops listlessly. Muddled thoughts run through his mind, and he’s staring at the ceiling of his apartment, unsure of what to do or  _ think _ .

It’s when his phone beeps and he gets a message from one of his boyfriends that Noctis starts to smile.

* * *

 

It’s Prompto who arrives first, rushing into the apartment in between eleven and twelve, and he brings with him a whirlwind of energy that Noctis could never compete with.

Noctis was on the couch, settling by the corner – it was his favored spot, where he could squish himself against the armrest, curl on himself and, well, more often than not, start dozing. Gladio, who often sits next to him, would place an arm around him to use as a pillow, as he continued to read from whatever pop novel he picked up. Ignis was on the other end of the couch – it was easy to get up from that side, and Ignis was anything but lazy, always looking for something to tidy up or clean, even during movie night. The three of them had stopped trying to dissuade him, though. 

Anyhow, having a cleaner apartment at the end of the day without having moved a finger was always a plus in Noctis’ book.

“Do anything fun, today?” Prompto asks, settling on the couch next to him, and Noctis stared at him, deadpan.

“I just woke up.”

It was always like this between them – and it couldn’t be any more obvious, Prompto’s light to Noctis’ dark and he wasn’t talking about the color of their hair.

Prompto had always been the livelier of the two, the one to smile more, laugh loudly and bounce with so much energy Noctis sometimes think it’s impossible to keep all that in his lithe body.

Granted, Noctis wasn’t one to talk about size differences – he  _ was  _ just as slender. Gladio says his untamable hair was the only thing that set him taller than Prompto. Gladio was also an asshole.

They spend the morning playing video games, and Noctis doesn’t even get up to change his clothes, but Prompto doesn’t seem to mind, though.

The couch is wide enough to fit all four of them comfortably – although Noctis hadn’t purchased it with that in mind, he just wanted to sleep comfortably on it – the space wide enough for them without being too distant. Still, Prompto doesn’t take a seat away from him.

He presses against Noctis’ side and every nuance of his movements – from the way Prompto’s elbow digs into his side, or the way his leg is resting comfortably against Noctis’ – has him slowly relaxing into the blond.

The thing is – Prompto is a ball of energy, but he doesn’t always  _ talks _ it out. Sometimes, it’s the way he just moves, the way his body seems to sway to an unheard beat or the random tunes that he hums under his breath.

Noctis is not as boisterous as the other usually was, but it is comforting – just to sit on the side and watch the energy radiate off Prompto. It was infectious, at times, and the only thing brightening up the room.

He shakes his head, and leans against the other, fingers still mashing the buttons of the controller in his hand.

Noctis feels Prompto grin, even if he can’t see it. He smiles to himself, before he digs his chin into Prompto’s shoulder and is rewarded with a short cry of surprise. He laughs at the pout on the blond’s face, before Prompto puts away his controller and starts attacking his sides.

“Not—hngh—fair!” Noctis exclaims, shouts even, in between his laughter as he’s pushed on to his back and uselessly tries to fight away Prompto’s hands. He knows he’s red in the face by now, and there are probably tears in his eyes, but he’s forgotten the wiry strength Prompto has until he feels both hands pushed against the armrest above his head in a vicegrip and Prompto grinning triumphantly above him.

“What?” Noctis asks, trying to imitate the gruff tone Gladio takes on when he’s in his mentor mode (which is  _ all the time _ ).

“Nothin’.” Says the other, all sky blue eyes and freckles.

_ You’re not usually like this _ .

Noctis just wraps his arms around Prompto’s waist and pulls him down, until his lips find purchase on the other’s cheek. No, Noctis isn’t like this. He’s not one to seek comfort, to reach out and touch. Even with his boyfriends, no matter how long they’ve been together, he was never the instigator, just the recipient.

Prompto, though, seems to understand. The expression on his face grows soft – softer than usual – and he leans down to kiss Noctis.

The kiss is sweet and light – everything Prompto is, in spite of the secrets he knows the other keeps, knows in the way he tries to divert questions about it with his enthusiasm – but Noctis doesn’t want to get into it, doesn’t want to get rid of the ease of the atmosphere between them and simply responds back to the kiss.

He feels a hand on his cheek, a thumb swiping back the askew hair on his cheek and Noctis’ hold around Prompto grow tighter, unbidden.

A noise (breathy and needy) climbs up his throat, and Noctis has half a mind to sound embarrassed about it, but the way Prompto breaks away a bit just to look at him, cheeks flushed red and a broad smile on his face, has Noctis braving through his blunder and pull him back down.

It’s quiet between them, a silence that’s comfortable enough that they don’t need to fill it with unwarranted chatter. Prompto settles on his side and Noctis nestles against the 

other’s neck, feeling warm and cozy with the other’s weight pressing against him.

He doesn’t know – or care – about the minute hands ticking by, or the echoes of the car exhausts drumming quietly against the windows. The menu music of console continues to play, but neither could be bothered with picking up the controllers to continue the game, too invested in the sound of each other’s breathing to even think about disentangling themselves.

Noctis closes his eyes and breathes in cinnamon.

* * *

 

He didn’t mean to fall asleep – in spite of how he usually complains about wanting to go back to bed, he doesn’t really spend it sleeping as much as he spends it just playing on his phone. Still, the silence of the living room and the warmth of Prompto’s body against him lulled him into a light slumber, gently awoken when a deep chuckle reached his ears.

Noctis turns, eyes still closed, unconsciously following the sound until it’s close, feels a hand – large and warm,  _ impossibly _ soft and gentle – on the slop where neck meets shoulder and he feels soft lips against his, feels the scruff of a beard against his chin and a smile grows on his lips, feels Gladio smiling back at him before.

The smile still on his face, Noctis makes him comfortable and watches, vision somewhat hazy from sleep, as Gladio leans over him to kiss Prompto. The other drops his phone and leans forward to chase after Gladio’s lips, grinning when he gets a pinch on the side in response.

“You two been like this all day?” Gladio asks, still smiling, one arm stretched over the couch to grasp the headrest, the other rising to thumb away the hair from Noctis’ eyes.

“Uh huh, Noct wanted cuddles and kisses.” Prompto says, lips mouthing the words from their bank on Noctis’ crown.

An upward tilt of one corner of his lips, Gladio raises a brow. “And I’m sure you didn’t want cuddles and kisses, too.”

Prompto raises a hand in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m a lowly peasant. Give the future king my love and all.”

Noctis knows he doesn’t mean to, but Prompto’s choice of words has him remembering the phone call and his dad and, not now. Not yet. He doesn’t want to think about it yet.

Maybe it’s the way Noctis grows solemn, or the way he slightly turns his head to hide his face in the curve of Prompto’s shoulder, or the fact that this is Gladio—

This is his Shield.

This was the man fated to die with him, side by side; promised from birth; both sentinel and subject.

He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does: because it’s the way Gladio looks at him, takes him apart with his eyes – as if Noctis can hide  _ anything _ from him – the way he can see the faint scar running from brow to cheek, over a warm, soft gaze, a mark of his fealty and honor.

_ I know you. I’ll always know you. _

Noctis reaches a hand up, lets his thumb trace the scar, watches as Gladio brings his hand back to hold his and watch that soft smile grow on his face.

Because in this apartment, in this room, when it’s just between the four of them – Gladio isn’t terse and rough; he’s not abrasive and vicious. He wasn’t Noctis’ mentor, intent on molding his form into a warrior.

When the world closes its eyes and looks away, Gladio is gentle and calm, soft and perceptive. His ministrations are soothing, and Noctis feels safe – feels wanted – when Gladio’s form tower overs him and covers him completely.

Without preamble, and a sound of surprise coming from both Noctis and Prompto, Gladio grins and picks the both of them up, and Noctis would punch him at how easily Gladio was able to throw them both over his shoulders if he wasn’t laughing just as loudly as Prompto was.

Noctis doesn’t even need to turn to know that Gladio is making way to his bedroom –  _ their _ bedroom, for all the nights that they seem to sleep here more than their own homes – and they’re past the threshold and the door jamb and he feels himself falling, until he hits the soft weight of the mattress beneath him, Prompto curled towards him, arm over his stomach and Gladio grinning down on them.

There’s a shuffle, and they both giggle at the sight of tall, burly Gladio dancing on the spot as he takes his boots off. There’s a warmth in his chest – a weight that seemed to thrum deeper and louder that it echoes in his ears – and Noctis feels it growing and burrowing even deeper as Gladio finally manages to take both boots off and that victorious grin on his face was so childlike, so bright and the only thing he could do was just whisper his Shield’s name.

It was not an order or a command, merely a question, but Gladio obeys without complaint, climbing over both of them – eyes as tender as his touch – and settling on Noctis’ right.

Gladio was a mountain of a man, but for all that strength in those muscles, he was ever so kind with his touches when it comes to his lovers. Noctis makes a noise in his throat, doesn’t even care about hiding it anymore, as he feels a large hand creep under his shirt to caress his stomach, merely leans his head against Gladio’s chest and breathes in cedar and ash, lets the scruff of Gladio’s chin rest against his temple and he pulls Prompto closer.

His legs are bare, feels the rough texture of Prompto’s jeans in contrast with the smooth leather of Gladio’s, but he doesn’t mind. He tangles their legs together until he’s not sure whose leg he’s feeling and he can’t help the erratic way his heart beats.

There’s the press of lips on his temple and Noctis turns, smiling, at the devastatingly handsome face above him, in spite of the scar (more so, in fact).

Gladio leans down and kisses him – deeply. There’s another pair of lips, tracing the contours of his neck and – blindly, eyes closed as Gladio brings a hand back up to his cheek so that he could kiss Noctis even better – he gropes and finds Prompto’s hand, laces their fingers together.

There’s the static of arousal, Noctis feels it dancing in his veins, just beneath his skin and each touch both of his lovers bring, has him wanting to keen into a dance they all are intimately familiar with.

But not now.

Noctis loves sex as much as the next guy does, but he’s not looking for that now.

No, this is different. He just wants to feel their touch, hear their breathing, memorize the way Prompto’s freckles disappear when he blushes – eyes light like the sky on a beautiful day, take to heart each speck of gold in the amber of Gladio’s eyes, the way his touch always meant to  _ curl _ , not to grip tightly, but to envelop him close, as if promising to never let go.

No, he just wants this comfort. He just wants to feel wanted – actually, genuinely wanted. He doesn’t want to think of obligations and royal duties and the future. He wants now. He wants the present. He wants…

He wants to know where Ignis fucking is.

Noctis breaks away to voice this thought aloud and Prompto starts giggling again and Gladio rolls his eyes in jest before he pulls out a phone from his back pocket (how that did not get crushed under Gladio’s weight was another question Noctis really wants answered) and dials, and Noctis knows Ignis is second on speed dial, Prompto is third and Noctis is first. Always first.

Not the king, not his own father Clarus. Always Noctis.

“Is there a problem?” Comes Ignis on the phone, accent crisp, voice even. Ever perfect.

Prompto chortles while Noctis whispers a quiet greeting. He knows that Ignis will barely hear it but this is Ignis.

If there’s anyone who knows everything, it’s Ignis.

“Our little princeling,” Gladio says, and Noctis feels the other’s socked foot tap his bare own and Noctis buries himself closer and deeper into the crease of Gladio’s arm. “Wants cuddles and kisses.”

“And you, mister, are missing out on cuddles and kisses.” Prompto finishes, leaning over to speak into the phone, and Noctis smiles as Gladio pecks the blond on the temple lightly. “So, get your perfect butt over here.”

The other line is quiet before Ignis’ forever even, rarely shaken voice comes on. “I’m at the Citadel, in the middle of work.”

Noctis pushes himself up, and in the neediest tone he’s ever made (okay, he’s  _ slightly _ manipulative but it’s for a good cause), calls out. “Iggy, please?”

Prompto giggles again and Gladio snorts in amusement as an exasperated sigh echo through the speaker.

“On my way.”

* * *

 

“What excuse d’ya think he came up with this time?” Gladio asked, now in the middle of the bed and his shirt off, with Noctis and Prompto on his sides.

Noctis hums in response, hands trailing the strokes of ink on his chest. Prompto was leaning against an ink-covered shoulder, phone in hand and front camera open. Gladio crosses his eyes and Noctis gave the camera the finger as Prompto takes a shot.

It’s a photo, together with a million other photos, that will never reach the light of day. No, it’ll stay between four of them – something to be cherished and cared for and  _ theirs _ . Just theirs.

“Maybe he pulled the ‘Noct Burnt the Kitchen’ card.” Prompto helpfully supplied.

Gladio hums in agreement, sounding pensive. “Or the ‘Noct Tripped and Scraped His Knee’ card.”

Said Noctis merely glared at the two, even if his glare was for show.

Prompto raised his head and grinned. “Oh! Oh! Maybe the ‘Noct Tries to Make the Regalia Fly’ card.”

Oh, come on. That was just one time.

He wasn’t even able to make ten feet before Ignis arrived and crossed his arms and stared at him in disappointment until he stopped.

In his defense, it was Gladio who gave him the idea.

Okay, no, Gladio was just joking but Prompto made a bet with him.

Okay, that was a lie, too.

They spend the afternoon away – simply cuddling, cherishing the warmth and closeness. Things had started getting busier lately and it was rare enough to have both Gladio and Ignis together with him and Prompto – or about to be, anyhow. Noctis knows it’s about work, it’s about the kingdom, the ongoing war – this stupid, pointless war.

Turning his head away from the window, as if to turn away from his thoughts, Noctis curls into Gladio, still tracing the inks of his tattoo and dancing around the flesh of his nipple, watches it harden and stiffen. He leans over and kisses it, once, twice, and rests his head back on the bare chest beneath him, hearing Gladio’s heartbeat against his temple like a continuous drumbeat. A hand is on his back, drawing shapes into his skin and there’s Prompto’s finger, tracing lines down his arm stretched over the muscled stomach below.

The light had gone from bright to dusky orange, swathes of whiskey painting the room in sunset glows, and he only hears the breathing of his lovers, the chirps of the birds in the alcoves above, the branches of a tree tapping against the glass panes, a quiet staccato.

There’s the click of the door, and the sound of the lock turning, and Noctis is ambling up, throwing a grin at the two as he rises from the bed. Gladio sleepily raises a hand and waves as he turns to Prompto and pulls the younger into his arms.

Bare feet on the wooden panels, Noctis slows down until he’s leaning against the door jamb, hair in his eyes, watching as Ignis locks the door behind him.

Tall, just as tall as Gladio, but a lot leaner. Pressed suit, combed-back hair, and slate grey glasses resting on a straight nose. The image of perfection – of routine and formality. Things Noctis struggles to reach.

But he doesn’t resent Ignis.

Not when he knows how Ignis looks, bare and wanting and undone; not when he knows how Ignis has lines on his face in the morning, when his hair is standing and pointing into different directions and there’s sleep gunk in his eyes; not when he knows how Ignis’ voice lose their stability whenever Noctis was about to do something stupid; not when he knows how stupid Ignis looks with that ecstatic grin on his face when Noctis leans up to kiss him in greeting and how stupid his heart wants to jump in his chest after.

A bag is set on to the kitchen table and Ignis looks up to see him, still standing and smiling at him sleepily.

“Hey.” Noctis says, voice barely a note higher than the silence.

“Hey.” Ignis responds, smiles back, green eyes mapping him from crown to toe, checking his wellbeing. Noctis had learned not to mind, not when those same eyes glow with appreciation and fondness – things he never expected to have from his advisor.

And Noctis walking forward, raising his hands to take off Ignis’ glasses, watches the eyes that glow green from afar but reminds Noctis so much of the sea – of an old lighthouse by the cape, legs over the cliff, watching the waters rush and crash against the craggy rocks below – the specks of blue and azure in shades of green.

He inhales the faint scent of vanilla, breathes in deep as he basically melts in Ignis’ arms, feels arms hold him up, always ready to pull him up when he needs it.

_ Got my back? _

_ Always. _

Noctis pull away, smiling – and he’s sure: sure that the look on his face is uncharacteristically open, not the nonchalance he consistently tries to put on or the mask of immaturity he loves to revert to just to rile his two older lovers with; he smiles, though, because it’s Ignis – and Gladio and Prompto – and it’s them and if it’s them, it’s okay.

He didn’t have to be Prince Noctis of the line of Lucis Caelum, hundred fifteenth of his name.

If it’s them, he’s just Noct.

He’s just Noctis.

He grins and pulls at Ignis’ coat and the man simply smiles, allowing Noctis to take it off him, leaving him in his dress shirt.

With a hand laced in Ignis’, Noctis pulls at him slowly – still smiling – as they slowly make their way back to the bedroom. Ignis is close to him, his free hand holding on to Noctis’ waist, making sure he doesn’t walk back into the wall or the dresser by the side with that expensive looking lamp his bespectacled lover chose to adorn and Noctis doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to express how much they all mean to him.

He knows he’s being sappy, that he’s being too honest with himself now, but the thing is – Noctis knows there’ll never be a time where he can express that.

There will never be a time where he can stand on top of the world and scream it all out.

They were not running on borrowed time; the hourglass was broken from the start. In the pages of the future, this would be nonexistent.

In the pages of history, they will just be the four friends – brothers until the end.

Who they were – together – existed only in the cavities of Noctis’ heart.

On reaching the bedroom, Noctis hears the two greet Ignis and sees him throw a smile back. Hands on the collar of his dress shirt, Noctis slowly unbuttons them, leaning in to peck at the slip of skin for each button opened. He leans up just as Ignis leans down to kiss him, hands on his neck, angling him properly.

Ignis doesn’t even have to say anything for Noctis to open his lips, and feel Ignis, feel that warmth pouring in – until he’s grasping at the bottom of the other’s dress shirt still in his pants and he’s pulling it out so he could unbutton that last one, feel the skin from collarbone to navel, pale and daintily muscled, a monochrome contrast to the black of his shirt.

“C’mon,” Noctis says – sighs, really. “Missed you today.”

_ And yesterday, and tomorrow, and everyday. _

There’s a question in those eyes, and Noctis knew it’ll be Ignis who wants to know – not so much as to suspect, because his lovers knew him far too intimately to ever not know – to want to ask the question.

Gladio will keep quiet, maybe stare at him with that pensive look (Gladio never blows up with him, and Noctis prays a day won’t come that he will) and Prompto will be extra chipper with him until he’s had enough and Noctis blurts out what’s eating him – but neither will initiate, neither will ask directly. Ignis will, though.

Noctis shakes his head and pulls him into bed, settles beside Prompto, who had exchanged positions with Gladio, his large form blanketing the edge of their bed. He feels Ignis snake behind him, arm around his waist, lapel of his shirt falling open to reveal a dusky-colored nipple, up to faint pink lips in a small smile.

Another arm joins Ignis’, and Prompto’s eyes are blue, delightfully blue, as shine with his smile. Overhead, Gladio has his hand threading through Ignis’ hair, messing it up to the amusement of the latter. Ignis simply turns his head to plant a kiss on Gladio’s wrist.

Maybe it’s the warmth, or the sweetness of the touches. Maybe it’s the purple dusk cutting through the faint pastels of orange and red through the window panes. Maybe it’s the cracks in the ceiling of their bedroom.

Maybe it’s none of that, or all of that.

“My dad called.” Noctis blurts out, oddly at ease with what he’s doing. A silence grows, a bit of tension seeps, and he feels the arm around his waist grow tighter, feels nose against his neck breathe deeply, feels the shadow cast by Gladio’s form tremble slightly.

“And?” Ignis asks, quietly – ever so silently – lips tracing the lobe of his ear.

“Tomorrow.”

His words are hollow-sounding, but the warmth in his chest is expanding. There was no going around this, no resolution where everyone is happy. It is what it is.

Noctis had known that, perhaps not consciously – but a part of him had always known, even when the rest struggled to believe otherwise, struggled to be something different.

“I just want us to be us.” He continues.

_ A king’s duty is sacrifice. _

He just wants them to be the same. He wants to see Gladio reading by the corner of the bedroom, feet stretched to rest on the tabletop. He wants to see Prompto on the kitchen counter, feet bumping into the drawers below as he fiddles with the camera, morning light seeping in. He wants to see Ignis by the stove, hand on the ladle, back towards him, cumin and pepper and rosemary tingling his nostrils.

Gods, he just wanted so much.

A sigh – and it comes from Gladio of all people, angling closer.

“We still have today.”

“And tomorrow.” Prompto pitches in.

He feels Ignis nod. “And all the days until then.”

There’s a kiss on his neck and Noctis closes his eyes, and breathes, memorizing every detail of them, theirs, until its carved and engraved deep into his heart.

This is enough.

It had to be.


End file.
